The Branding of an Orphan
by Complicated Slave
Summary: Taken place far into the future of Boba Fett, this "journal entry" is of the memories and pains of Jango's death. It's in first person.


Author's note: I must admit, this is rather mushy. Being a woman and all, I'm terrible at writing anything with dramatic action and such. Maybe someday I'll be great.. ^.^ Well anyway, hope you enjoy this.. oh yeah, and one more thing. I'm new to writing, so please, review as much as you like!!  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own star wars.. I'd like to, but I don't. I don't own any characters in this story, so don't sue me. ^.^  
  
One more thing: This is in first person view, and it's meant to be in the form of a journal entry. Keep in mind that this is to be read as if Boba Fett (main character) is much older, wiser and retired (yeah, like that will ever happen).  
  
The Branding of an Orphan  
  
It isn't often you find yourself in a rather painful situation. It always appears when you least expect it; either when you're having a wonderful time with family and friends, or when you're on your own enjoying a peaceful summers day. Something happens to destroy that bliss.  
  
When I mean pain, I don't mean the physical kind - you know, the kind of pain you feel when you split a finger open with a blade or when you accidentally shoot your father in the foot. Not that kind of pain. I'm talking about REAL pain. The type of pain you feel when somebody leaves you, whether from the physical plane or just from your life. That was the kind of pain I felt when my father died. I was only ten years old at the time, and it was the least thing I had expected. After all, my father was invincible. He was the kind of man that could run into any sort of situation, and manage to avoid every single blaster bolt that flew at him. Super - Dad I used to call him whenever he came home from a recent hunt. I guess I was going to learn just how wrong I was.  
  
I remember the heat the most of all when I think back on this particular event. It's not that I didn't love my father, I mean.. I did, he was super- dad. It's just that I hate deserts. The planet we were on at the time was altogether hot and dusty. There were a few nice areas, but they were so full of people and creatures you could barely move, which made the hot dust seem like a paradise. However, I grew up on a very wet planet that would rain for months at a time, and never stop - so you can imagine my dismay when I found myself watching a very horrific battle in the blistering heat of this god forsaken planet.  
  
I see I've mentioned the battle, that was stupid of me. I was trying hard to avoid this. Like I said, I was only ten at the time, and my father was super-dad. The whole thing started out just fine. We were watching a battle.. okay, it was a torture event in which three victims were placed in a ring, only to find themselves being hunted down by enraged, starving creatures. It was quite entertaining, to say the least. However, the scene soon became real ugly. I remember looking up and finding that a Jedi (I hate Jedi) had his lightsaber held up to my father's face. Not long after I realised that the situation had changed, and the Jedi were now pouring into the arena, challenging any that came near. I hope you keep in mind that this was quite a long time ago, and the memory is a bit fuzzy. The next sequence was a bit weird. I remember my father telling me to stay back and stay where I was. Before I could answer he went rocketing down to the arena floor, where he challenged the Jedi from earlier. The battle seemed to go on for hours. I stood there, in the booth, mesmerised by the swinging of the blade and the duckng, rolling, and shooting of my father. Then, in one very fowl swoop of the purple blade, my fathers helmeted head came crashing down. I did nothing, and said nothing. It was as if time had stopped to burn that cruel image into my brain, branding it forever with the pain and anguish of being alone in the universe. Time resumed. I took a deep breath, and with a very determined step I wandered out of the battle scene to find a nice, safe hole to hide in until everything was over. Hours passed, and finally, just as the sun was setting.. the screams of battle had died down enough for me to crawl out safely. Not a single thought was in my head at this point except for the longing to escape, the need to leave this ugly planet and live my own life.  
  
I managed to make my way down to the crime scene. It was littered with corpses. Burnt, charred, acrid, disgusting corpses. It took me awhile to navigate my way through he ruin, but when I finally got to my destination, fear overtook me. I knew that my father was dead, I mean.. who can get their head severed and still live? It was just that, to see my own flesh and blood lying there on the gritty sand. I was terrified. Mind you, keeping to the moral codes I was given as a child, I scooped up my fathers body (and head) in my arms and dragged him to our ship - excuse me, my ship - and took off with much haste. I won't tell you what I did with his body, that's for me to know and me only. There wasn't much else to the story. I suppose I could tell of how I managed to fight off a few young Jedi, but that's for another day. 


End file.
